


waiting for the mountains to fall

by but_seriously



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Gen, impromptu ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_seriously/pseuds/but_seriously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d felt her throat stopper and choke just a few minutes ago, she’d scratched at air and screamed at nothing, and no one had been able to do anything but watch her being suffocated by an invisible pillow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting for the mountains to fall

**Author's Note:**

> written for ishichan's [Impromptu Ficathon](http://ishi-chan.livejournal.com/124302.html) over on livejournal, original post [here](http://ishi-chan.livejournal.com/124302.html?thread=735118#t735118).
> 
> prompt by fluffyfrolicker:  _the other side dissapearing; emphasis on caroline will make me v. happy, but anything relating to the kids handling the other side falling apart will really make me happy. +[this poem](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/247404)._   
> 

Caroline’s not really sure what to do when life as she knows it is tipping on its axis. It’s like all those apocalyptic movies Tyler and Matt had insisted they watch back-to-back when they were kids. It feels a little like that – the never-ending screaming, her nails in her mouth, her eyes screwed shut, except there’s no pause button here, is there?

“So you’re making a list?”  
  
“No.” Caroline waves Matt away from her pin board. “I’m making _several_ lists. Safe places, by state and then country if need be; _clothes_ —what to wear while on the run 101, and you know how Elena always forgets snacks. We need snacks. Of the B-positive kind.”  
  
Matt picks at a disposable phone. “Care, you’re not running from the feds.”  
  
“No, I’m running from the annihilation of my entire species,” she snaps. Matt visibly flinches, but she doesn’t have time to soften, to gather him into her arms. She’d felt her throat stopper and choke just a few minutes ago, she’d scratched at air and screamed at nothing, and no one had been able to do anything but watch her being suffocated by an invisible pillow. Her face is blotchy, puffy like a dandelion swept bare in a biting wind. And she has no time, no _time_ , because Damon had said: thirty minutes.  
  
Thirty minutes to pack, thirty minutes to say her good byes.  
  
(Thirty minutes to bury Stefan.)  
  
Thirty minutes for her to gather what little of herself she has left and zip out of town.  
  
It’s strange, they’ve never had to run before — before, before. Before, when Bonnie was still a witch. Before, when they had the Originals on their side, at least. Before, when Stefan was there to hold her hand, to tell her everything would be okay.  
  
Her throat seizes. She shuts her eyes.  
  
It’s all in her List.  
  
Thirty minutes.

  
  
—

 

  
It’s been decided. Matt has to stay behind. Matt always stays behind, Matt has broad shoulders you can rest on, a chest carved from ice that never melts from your tears. Matt wants to make sure the Travelers aren’t making crazy stir-fry out of anybody else’s brains. Matt has a shotgun just for this.  
  
Caroline doesn’t want to tell them it’s no use. That if you need a gun, you’re probably in the wrong business.  
  
This business, this _Save Mystic Falls_ Committee, this _Save Mystic Falls at the Expense of Our Own Lives_ Committee—it really is at the expense of their lives. She’d deluded herself into thinking that everything was going to be okay in the end – Buffy didn’t make it look easy, but Buffy made it look doable.  
  
And if any group were the walking, talking, snarking embodiment of doable, it’s them alright.  
  
Matt peeks out the window, loads his gun, paces incessantly. Jeremy is talking quietly with Elena in the corner. Elena doesn’t respond. She hasn’t spoken since –  
  
Since – well – twenty minutes ago.  
  
“Lock and load. Got everything?” he asks, like he needs the reminder. “How are things looking?”  
  
“Doable,” Caroline says decidedly before he locks her into a hug. He hasn’t hugged her like this since the night her Dad died. She presses back, pretends she doesn’t feel her entire weight fall on him like a lump of wet cotton.   
  
Like how her throat feels right now.  
  
“That’s what I like to hear,” Matt whispers, then lets go.

 

—

 

With five minutes left, she writes Liz a letter. There is so much she wants to say, so much: sorry we never got to watch the Lion King together when it came out, sorry I had a cheer meet the day Dad left, sorry I never found you a good man, _sorry we never got out of here while we had the chance_ —  
  
So she tells Liz she loves her instead, she tells her – she tells her she loves her, again, and the entire letter might have just been her saying _I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry, I love you_ , over and over and over.

  
  
—  
  


  
Bonnie asks, “Do you know where you’re going?”  
  
They’re in her car. The rain trickles down. Elena has her forehead pressed against the backseat window. Damon’s driving ahead of them; at the rate he’s going she wonders if he even cares if they catch up or not. She can see the grief coming off of him like grey and blue rain specks.  
  
“Of course I do,” she says after a beat.  
  
“Come on, Bon,” Elena says quietly. Finally. She sounds scratchy and hoarse, like sand might pour out of her if you cut her open.  “She has a list.”

 

 

 


End file.
